Poppet
by oliaoticvnm
Summary: Arthur Kirkland came to the New World to explore as a British soldier, only to be pulled into the mess of the Revolution. Alfred F. Jones, a cheeky colonist never expected to have his feelings warped like this. The man would come into his house, take his heart, walk over it, and then do it again tomorrow.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Cheerio! Olive Fudge here, reporting for fanfic duty! This is my first fan fiction on this site so please, don't pelt me with flames. This is a human AU, set in the colonial times. My social studies teacher has started talking about the Revolutionary War and the events leading up to it. This story kind of built in my head. I've never cried so much over my homework.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Arthur was hot, tired, and very unamused. He strolled through the streets of Boston, body laden down with his heavy uniform and rifle. The red coat wrapped around his thin shoulders like a large blanket and his hat provided no relief from the golden rays of the sun. The Briton never liked being an soldier and after all, seeing his prior bosses being tar and feathered was not a pleasant addition. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down the cobblestone streets. Above all his needs, Arthur Kirkland was starving. He hadn't eaten in days. It was Tuesday currently and the last time he had a grain of bread was last Saturday. There wasn't a pound in his pocket and he desperately needed food. Not many people were on these roads today and no one really was going to hand over some food to a British official. Guess he was going to get into a house then. Finding the closest house that looked slightly refined, Arthur went to knock on the door. It opened with a loud swish. A boy that looked seventeen stood in the frame, his hair messy with a strand of hair sticking up and large blue eyes hostile. "What d'you want?"

Arthur took of his hat and held it to his chest, staring at the man. "Cheerio poppet. I was wondering if I could stay for a bit?"

"You from England?"

"Yessir. May I com-"

He stepped back quickly as the large wooden door slammed in his face. Arthur frowned, brows furrowing. He rapped on the door again. "Hey poppet! I do suppose you've heard of the Quartering Acts, yes?"

"Whatever. Go away old man."

"I"ll have you know, I'm only eighteen you daft buffoon!"

"Why should I care how old you are?"

The Briton knocked on the door again. "You asked, that's why!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"What's your name poppet?"

Arthur heard a loud puff from inside. The door opened a crack and he could see one of the boy's large azure eyes peek at him. "The name's Alfred F. Jones."

"You're quite the cocky one aren't you Alfred? What's the F stand for?"

"It's a secret!"

"Alright. Can I come in?"

The English man saw one of his blonde eyebrows raise while he pondered. "Fine. You can only come in for awhile, alright?"

"Fine, fine."

Door swinging open, he saw the young colonist staring him down. Feeling a bit intimidated, Arthur walked through the opening into a neat and well decorated house. "This is quite the nice house poppet."

"Thanks."

The cool house was a relief from the sweltering heat. As the British man looked around the room before feeling a tap on his head. Looking up, he saw Alfred towering over him. "Take off your shoes. My mother doesn't care for dirty footprints on her white carpet."

"My boots aren't dirty!"

Alfred shrugged before trudging off to fetch a glass of water. Arthur stared at him, frowning even more. Unbuckling his shoes, he padded across the carpet to go find the American. Seeing him pour a glass of water from the crystal pitcher, the Briton's throat prickled with thirst. When he was handed the glass of liquid, Arthur tried to appear as a gentleman by sipping the clear water however when the cool liquid snaked down his throat to sooth the burning sensation, he downed the entire glass quickly. The entire time, Alfred assessed him carefully. He was obviously good mannered, a soldier. After the older man put down the glass, Alfred raised the pitcher. "Want more?"

Arthur eyed the container. True, he wanted some more but trying not to annoy the American, he shook his head. "It's alright poppet. D'you have a spot of food?"

"Yes."

They stood there awkwardly, the younger man towering over him. Arthur cleared his throat before scratching his straw blonde hair. "May I have some?"

"Why should I give you any?"

"Because poppet. I haven't eaten since Saturday so if you would please be kind-:

"Look, I've given you water and some shelter from the heat. I think it's time to leave. I don't even know your name"

The Englishman scrunched his nose at the American's cheeky comment. "There's no need to be rude. My name's Arthur. If you would like me to leave, I'll kindly go away."

Turning around swiftly, Arthur went to go put his boots on. "Wait!"

Looking back, he saw Alfred rubbing his cheek sheepishly. "Yes poppet?"

"I'll give you a few pieces of bread. You have to leave after that though."

"Thank you."

The colonist disappeared into the kitchen doors and Arthur's stomach rumbled with anticipation. Slipping on his shoes, the Briton shoved his hat on, adjusting it a bit. After a few minutes, the American was by him, handing him a small linen cloth with three rolls on it. "Goodbye," Alfred grumbled. Waving at him, Arthur placed a piece of bread in his mouth. "Foodbye poffet."

"Leave."

Arthur placed his gloved hand on his the brass doorknob before looking at the American one last time. "Fow old are ju?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm seventeen."

"Afh! I thee."

With that last comment, the Briton was enveloped by the hot afternoon. Alfred watched him leave until he was not a speck in the day, glad he was gone.

...But hoping he would see him again.

Chapter 2

The day was drab and grey, Arthur firing at the Americans. The day was March 5, 1770. He was not in a good mood. After marching through the city with his troop, this group of idiotic colonists ambushed them, jeering with wide sneers. They had mocked them beyond tolerance but Arthur's official had stood in front of them, arms stretched as if to block the bullets the experienced soldier knew was coming. The yells had come from behind them, ridiculing them, telling them to shoot. Arthur's head was pounding, the Briton's thought swirling. After all of that horrible taunting, someone finally fired at the Americans. Now they were being pelted with debris, rocks, sticks, and whatever those colonists could find. His hair was stained with rain, emerald orbs focused on those before them. The Englishman shot again, grazing a colonist's arm. He didn't want to kill anyone, just wanted to teach those ignorant arseholes a lesson. However, two men already lay on the ground, temple punctured by bullets. Gritting his teeth, the British soldier laid his rifle down to reload. As he was doing so, the colonists' voices still echoed through the Massachusetts air. Listening to the verbal abuse, Arthur picked through the comments.

"You British are killing our men one by one!"

"Are you ignoring our rights?"

"We don't want you barging into our colonies!"

Arthur's head snapped up at the last remark. That obnoxious voice... Straightening up again, he searched through the crowd, green eyes sweeping over everyone until he found _him. _The mop of unruly blond hair, the blue eyes that were lit up with anger, his voice piercing the damp air. "Alfred?" he whispered to himself.

"Oy, pay attention Kirkland!"

He turned to see one of his fellow soldier aim his gun at the young seventeen year old. Arthur felt something pulse through his brain and just as the soldier placed his finger on the trigger, the Briton shoved him aside. "Wait!"

"What are you doing Kirkland?!"

Huffing heavily, he stared at the monochromatic floor. "Sorry, I slipped."

Scoffing in unbelief, the other soldier turned to fire at some other people. Relieved that Alfred wasn't hurt, Arthur turned back to the crowd and noticed that Alfred had spotted him. Staring at him with wide cobalt eyes, Alfred retreated a bit, loud yelling gone. He shook his head to clear his head and ran, heart pounding hard. Arthur watched the young man leave, still out of breath. Shrugging, he raised the gun again and fired.

Slamming the door to his room, Alfred collapsed on his bed. His rain sodden clothes dragged him down and he swiped the shaggy blonde hair our of his face. The American, heart throbbing in his chest rather uncomfortably. Despite only knowing Arthur from insulting him and feeding the Briton, he had just saved his life today. Why? Alfred hadn't done anything for him to be deserving of this deed! After all, he was a colonist and Arthur was part of the British Empire. Yes, after the few days the Englishman had left his house, Alfred had missed him. The seventeen year old didn't understand the feelings, he didn't even long for his father after he died. Yet, the British voice ringing through the halls made him shiver with a burning ache to see his bushy eyebrows and bright sea green eyes.

"Alfred? Are you home?"

Groaning loudly, Alfred rolled onto his face and yelled a muffled, "Yes mother!"

Elizabeth Jones tromped up the stairs to the bedrooms. Twisting the cold metal doorknob, she entered the room to her son's area. "Alfred?" Gasping loudly, she stared at her boy. "What is going on? Alfred, those sheets are white! Don't ruin them with your horrid clothes!"

"Quiet mother. I'm thinking."

"About what? I hope it's about how you're going to clean this disgusting mess! Goodness Alfred! I taught you better than this!"

"Mother."

"I mean honestly, even a child should know not to lie down on white sheets with your muddy shoes still on! My house has been the cleanliness of this town and now my own son!"

Sitting up immediately, Alfred snapped at his mother. "Shut up! I almost got killed today so I'd like to be alone for a bit. Please leave."

"But-"

"Goodbye mother."

Sighing angrily, Elizabeth stalked out of the room, throwing the door closed behind her. Alfred fell again, glasses sliding down his nose. He wanted to find Arthur and shoot him in the head for making him confused. It wouldn't help course, but the urge to throw something at the wall was painfully apparent. Taking his jacket from which he had thrown on the ground when he came into the bedroom, Alfred slipped it on and went back to the scene. After exiting his house, the colonist looked around. The rain had stopped, damp air mixing with the scent of gun powder. Bostonians walked down the street, some with bandages wrapped around their arms, legs, and whatever had been injured. "Those damn British," cursed a woman who held her husband, who's arm had been grazed and wrapped in a cloth. Running down the streets, Alfred reached King Street where few British soldiers remained, red coats on the ground and wrapping wounds. At the sight of the young American, one of them raised his gun to him. "What d'you want colonist?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Well, who is it?" asked the soldier, rifle lowering a bit.

"Um-Arthur."

Smirking at him, the Redcoat finally put down his weapon. "We've got many Arthurs chap. Quite a common name in England."

"Well, he's got bushy eyebrows, bright green eyes, messy blonde hair, about up to my chin, and he's eighteen."

"I reckon you're looking for Kirkland. He left to go back to his current housings, the Lestrade house."

"Thanks."

"You didn't happen to be in this little massacre did you?" the soldier asked, gesturing to the five bodies. Alfred gulped, bile rising in his throat. None of the bodies were people he knew but the seventeen year old had never seen a corpse. "No sir. I was at home," he lied, voice higher than he would have liked it to be.

"That's good."

Alfred ran quickly away from the disgusting sight. He knew where the Lestrades were, right around the town square. Going towards the large brownstone house, he covered his mouth with his long white sleeve. Quite honestly, he was a bit nauseous. The Lestrades would just have to be kind enough to hand over a glass of water


	2. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arthur was standing in the Lestrade house, washing his white dress shirt that had been stained with gun powder residue. He had been modest enough to wrap the red jacket that all English soldiers wore around his currently unclothed top. After all, there was a woman in the Lestrade house. Speaking of the devil, Leeni Lestrade poked her head of spiky amber hair to face the young Briton. "'Scuse me, but someone's here to see you."

"Very well, thank you."

The girl nodded and returned to her study. Arthur let out a heavy sigh. Who could possibly want to see him? This wasn't even his house. Placing his shirt on the side of the metal tub, the English man stood up with a huff and strode over to the door which was down the hallway from the bathroom in which he was in at the moment. When Arthur reached the large entrance hall, Alfred was there, rubbing his hands uncomfortably. "Poppet?"

At the sound of Arthur's voice, Alfred's head snapped up, blue eyes meeting the soldier's viridescent orbs. The colonist's face flushed immediately when he saw that Arthur was currently half-naked, top half only clothed in his ornate red coat. "Er, what happened to your shirt?"

"Ah, it got dirty, sorry." The English man snapped the brass buttons into place so it hid his chest. "Now," he inquired, eyes questioning,"why ever are you here Alfred?"

Momentarily at a lose for speech, Alfred stuttered for something to grasp onto. "The - erm, incident on King Street?"

"Ah yes, that." Arthur sighed."I saw you there. What's a seventeen year old doing in a mob?"

"Hey, you're only a year older than me!"

"True, but in personality, it would seem than I am many moons older than you poppet."

Gritting his teeth a bit, Alfred glared at the shorter man. "What's more important is why you decided to trip at the exact moment that soldier was going to shoot me!"

"It would appear that I am a touch clumsier than I used to be."

"Don't lie!"

Raising his bushy eyebrows, Arthur stared back at the colonist. "How can you tell if I'm bluffing poppet?"

"Because - because-" Alfred's voice faltered. He didn't really have a reason as to why he had told Arthur he was lying.

"It's quite all right," the Briton chuckled. "You were right Jones, I was lying to you. I thought to myself, you're only an obnoxious colonist, not deserving to die."

"Oh." It was all Alfred could say. Arthur smiled at him, bright green eyes sparkling before he spoke. "I must get back to cleaning my garments if that's all you inquire poppet. Have a good day."

"Wait"

Arthur had already turned and was heading toward the bathroom before he heard Alfred. Turning around, the Englishman's mouth had stretched into a wider grin. "Yes?"

"Can I have a glass of water?

"Of course."

Arthur gestured for him to come toward the kitchen. He laughed to himself a bit, knowing that something like this had happened, except the roles had been reversed the last time. Turning around a few corners, Alfred following him like a sick puppy, the Briton finally reached the Lestrade's tidy kitchen. Locating the water with a scan of the room, Arthur led him to the glasses and poured him a tiny bit. "Here. I assume you aren't thirsty?"

Alfred stared at him from the top of his frameless glasses. "Why would I ask for a glass of water then?"

Smirking, the shorter man looked his companion over. "Your posture suggests that you've been running quite a bit, the tips of your shoes are covered in gun powder but it isn't from the time you were in the mob because after I pushed that soldier away, no one ever shot toward your direction again. That means that you've been to King Street quite recently which means you've seen the bodies. Also, the colour of your face suggests that you've had a gun pointed at you and you're slightly nauseous because of the sight. Am I correct?"

The colonist gaped at him. "Are you kidding? You can tell all of that from my structure?!"

"It never hurt anyone to be observant, did it now?" Arthur snickered. "Drink your water."

Alfred sipped the water nervously. "By the way, there's a large amount of blood on your slacks. Probably from one of the bodies," Arthur informed in with a face that looked like he was trying not to dissolve into laughter.

The younger man spewed out his water and covered his mouth. "I'll be right back." he mumbled.

"Alright poppet."

Alfred darted outside, bile rising in his throat. The thought of one of those things touching him was absolutely repulsive. Kicking open the door, he collapsed on the strip of grass outside the Lestrades' house and vomited all over the green plant. The colonist never had a strong stomach, the very sight of a dead pig would make him sick. His mother used to tease him about it, saying that he was lucky the family was in politics. After all, most jobs in Boston involved dead things. Holding his stomach, Alfred retched again, body heaving violently. He could hear the soft sound of Arthur's feet heading toward him. Turning his head feebly toward the door, Alfred saw the flash of his red coat before turning around again as his stomach plunged down another hill. Feeling a cool hand push back his messy blonde bangs, the Bostonian looked up to see Arthur's concerned green eyes. The British soldier's thick eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown. "Are you quite alright, poppet?"

"Yes, sorry, I've got a weak stomach."

"Ah, you should have informed me about that."

The pair kneeled there, colonist spewing his gut's contents everywhere and soldier brushing back his hair and rubbing his back gently. It was quite an odd sight, many of the townspeople stopping to observe for a moment before walking away with noses pinched. After awhile, Leeni came out with a clothes pin on her nose and glass of water in hand. The smell was absolutely rancid. The girl glared at Arthur, as if to say he was going to clean it up. Giving her a grim smile, Arthur returned back to Alfred, murmuring comforting things. When the younger man stopped throwing up, he was promptly handed the glass of water by the soldier who was trying his hardest not to crinkle his nose. Alfred gulped it down and inhaled a large amount of air, the front of his shirt stained and mouth covered in his last meal. It wasn't exactly attractive. "Better poppet?"

The colonist nodded. Picking at the parts of his shirt that weren't covered in vomit, he groaned loudly. "My mother's going to murder me in my sleep."

"Give it here, I'll just wash it along with mine."

Staring at Arthur, Alfred smiled a bit and then glanced at Leeni who was standing in the doorway, her electric blue eyes piercing. "Sorry."

"Clear it up later," the girl growled, stalking back into her house. Arthur followed suit, Alfred close behind, both of them heading toward the bathroom. When they reached the tub where Arthur's shirt lay. Shifting on his feet uncomfortably, Alfred peered at the older man. Sensing his discomfort, Arthur promptly exited the room and shrugged off his jacket. Handing it to Bostonian through the crack in the door, the Englishman told him, "Keep it. I've got more."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. We get two redcoats, us soldiers."

Shivering outside, Arthur patiently waited for Alfred to change. When the young man finally came out, the Briton swept his eyes over the colonist's figure. "It looks good on you."

"Thanks."

Truth be told, the article of clothing was quite scratchy agains Alfred's skin. The cool brass buttons pressed uncomfortably against his chest and the thing really was to small for him. The colonist had to tug on it to keep it from slipping up. He didn't understand why Arthur wore the thing all the time. What was wrong with a nice cotton shirt? Clearing his throat, Alfred looked away from the sharp green eyes of Arthur. "So-"

"I think you should be on your way poppet. After all, your mother sounds like the sort of woman to get worried about her son, am I correct?"

"Right. Well, thanks for erm - saving me and the coat. The water too and my shirt. Just, thank you in general," Alfred rambled.

Arthur chuckled and grabbed his hand. The younger's azure eyes widened. Shaking it feebly, Alfred could feel the elder's calloused hands, spotted with burns and gun powder. His own pale hands were soft and smooth, surely from years of pampering. "Now, what kind of gentleman would you be if you didn't shake the hand of the man who is practically doing all of your chores?"

"Er, yes! Well, I'm leaving now!"

"Alright poppet," Arthur grinned as Alfred scampered out of the Lestrade house.


End file.
